Axe and Fire 2
by Gordoth
Summary: There is the sequel. Darius is dead. Shyvana is gone. Everything is peaceful for now... But Jarvan is planning something. I am very, very far from the mood of an actual author. So just DariusXShyvana, this is the sequel to Axe and Fire, if you guys read the first one I hope this one makes sense. T because Violence.
1. Chapter 1

**_Axe and fire 2_**

* * *

"Wake up, partner!" Someone called him. Yet, he wasn't sleeping. He was awake, running through a filed, covered in grass and flowers. Looking at a little, blonde girl, who was running with him, but a bit further than him. She was his little sister, and looked like a small sun, for she was always smiling. Her small figure was skipping through the tall grass, while her laughter filled his eyes with tears of joy.

His sister didn't have a really happy life. Taken from the family when she was still a child, just so her talents could be shaped into a weapon to be used in the war. After five years of intensive training, she had became a dangerous figure in their Nation's arsenal.

He, himself had became another dangerous weapon for the Nation, as a leader of the strongest battalion in the army. But while she was more or less forced to go behind enemy lines and execute priority targets, while he led the charge.

He had his rivals in the enemy's Nation, but a fellow soldier had left, or was more or less banished, exiled from the Nation, and joined an enemy, the rival. The fellow soldier was a woman, and the rival was a man. He, too, was banished from his Nation. And so, the fellow soldier, and the opposing rival, both met somewhere, and became friends, fellows. Lovers. Yet, one day, his lord, blinded by anger, killed , and left his body to rot. But what the rival had done... It had changed the rivaled's view of the enemy's Nation.

"Partner! Come on, wake up!" The rival once had a brother, and still had that brother, yet the life of that brother had darkened since the rival's death.

But he was just a ghost in the past. A fading shade of a world long lost. Once, the Nations were friends, yet that was the ancient times, when they weren't Nations yet, when they were settlements. Yet those settlements were not enemies. They were friends, and everyone could be with anyone. But something happened, and the settlements were no longer friends. They started fighting, and killing each other. Death colored the land and skies.

"Partner! Come on, I am waiting!" The voice was familiar to him. Yet he couldn't remember who possessed it. It could've been of a friend, or of an enemy. Who was going to be calling him? Who would want to take him away from the grassland? Who would be asking of him to leave his little sister?

The skies, which were covered in sunlight, which bathed both him and his sister, darkened. The grass blackened, death roamed through the land. The trees, which occasionally would appear out of nowhere in the plain place, lost all of their leaves, and their branches fired out, dying. His sister stopped laughing, her frame started fading away. He extended his hand towards her, trying to bold her with him, but failed. She disappeared.

Everything was dark and empty, lifeless and motionless. Only one thong stood there. That was him. All alone.

"Ah, there you are, partner!" Someone called, and he turned. A man, taller than him, stepped forth from the shadows. He had a long, brown coat, and a cow boy hands were gloved and empty, yet they could swiftly be filled with either the swords on his belt, the axe and mallet on his back, or the daggers in his boots. His whole face was covered by mask, which hid only his mouth, a little tube, which was placed under his nose, and goggles for his eyes. The coat had a piece of cloth, which hung loosely over his coat. It was a worn variety of white.

"Oh Oath almighty..." He said. Whenever he cared to even speak, the boy felt as if his ears were screaming and bleeding at the same time. "You have changed." The boy's brow lifted, in an unspoken question. "But I guess everyone changes when they experience loss... Even the enemies of those who have died." The man kept on talking, as if thinking that the boy actually understood anything.

"Who... Who are you?" Asked the boy. For a moment, the man seemed to stop in his tracks, but then he resumed.

"Partner, you have grown in foolishness... This isn't good. If you do not even remember ME, you are in trouble." He looked as if he was going to lecture the boy for a long while. But then he seems d to change intentions. "Ah, the world of dreams clouds one's memories. I guess you don't even know your name... Garen." The boy gulped. His closed, and opened again, only to see war. Bleeding men, dying soldiers. Looking down at himself, he saw a giant sword, covered in blood. He blinked, and was now looking at a man with long black hair, wearing golden armor. He seemed to be... Congratulating him on something. Blink. He saw a man, with shorter, yet black hair, formed just like a skyward rock. There was a white knot in it, but what scared Garen was the giant axe and the expression of emotionless carnage imprinted on the opposing face.

The picture changed. He saw himself, bumping fists with a raven haired man, who was wearing a gold adorned armor, and was smiling. Garen was also smiling. They were probably great friends

The picture changed yet again. But this time, Garen was but an observer. His friend, the raven haired man with gold adorned armor was fighting the other man, who wore dark armor. This time, however, there was just sadness all over the face of the axe wielder, and Garen's friend seemed just about ready to explode. They were fighting in a circle of stony walls, with small amounts of lava running here and there.

The picture changed, and Garen saw himself, sitting next to his friend, a man who resembled the person on the first picture only by hair and armor, was staring blindly in the back of the seat in front of him. Garen could see the anger and hatred oozing from him. Then the boy looked around, and saw even more people. Most of them were smiling, and they looked as if they were... Expecting somebody. There was a beautiful woman in a white dress, carrying a bouquet of flowers. She looked like a bride, but Garen didn't know who were they waiting for.

The picture changed, for one last time. He saw the axe wielder, his weapon absent, laying on the floor in the same room the previous picture was taken. His skin was pale, his eyes were staring at nothing. He seemed as if he was dead Garen saw himself, a palm on his mouth and a saddened look in his eyes. The raven haired man was next to him. He seemed to be barely holding in laughter, because the curves his face was making were more than enough evidence. And lastly, he saw the bride, her eyes filled with tears, kneeling next to the body of the axe wielder. She seemed as if she was screaming something, his name probably.

The picture dissipated into a cloud of smoke, and the man was the only thing which remained. Garen felt his heart beating faster, and faster.

"Ah, so now you remember me, partner... As you probably remember everyone else who's lives you've been part of..." Said the man in front of him. Garen could remember him, remembered the strange man who came... And rescued Darius and Shyvana.

"Th-the Nomad?" His eyes widened. For some reason, he couldn't force his thoughts to work straight.

"Aye, that's me, partner." The Nomad looked around, as if aware of something Garen wasn't, which was probably correct. Then, the man was in front of Garen, no more than a few inches away from his face. "Be careful, boy... For what you think righteous might crumble on top of you, with the strength of a Giant... Be careful, for your fate... Is sealed."

* * *

Garen woke up, with a scream pushing against his lips. He was covered in sweat, his sheets were on the floor, and the window of his room in the Crownguard estate was open. He saw a shadow, pretty human, lurking in it, looking at HIM. His hand shot for his sword, and he was about to charge, when the figure sighed, as if disappointed, and leaped off the window. Garen's heart was going to dig out of his chest, when he heard a knock on his door.  
Slowly, the huge man walked towards the door, his sword held firmly in his hand. He opened, only to see his butler, Alric, looking at him with a brow slightly above the other.

"Are you alright, my lord?" Asked the old man with concern. Garen just shoved the argument in the wall and looked at Alric. "Ah yes, the Prince requires an audience with you, immediately." Garen nodded. He didn't doubt his future king's wishes for a moment and quickly put his scarf on his neck and covered himself with a cloak.

* * *

The streets of Demacia were really silent at night, which made them more and more beautiful. The moon threw its light upon the cold cobblestone, the dim light of the lanterns made an air of comfort and calm. Garen was calming down, when he felt someone looking at him. His heart skipped a beat, as the figure which he saw when his head moved, was exactly the same as before, but a tad bit clearer to his eyes. It could only be one man...

"Talon!" Garen almost shouted, lifting his sword. The assassin simply looked at him, with a probably cold glare, as he always did. But he didn't leave, he didn't hide. He just... Looked at him. "What game are you playing, Noxian?" Asked Garen, although it was almost sure that he wouldn't get a reply. Talon replied by dropping a blade on the cobble in front of Garen.

The Demacian couldn't understand this... At all. Talon's hand moved, and waved at him, sending him off. The Demacian General snorted and turned, expecting the blade to come running towards his throat. Though this didn't happen. Talon's silent gaze had disappeared, and Garen was left alone.

The Demacian groaned and left off, towards the palace. Something told him that the surprises were not over.

**A/N: There you go guys. I started it. I have a few chapters done, but I cannot write anymore, I am too lazy and broken inside to be able to. So... Just tell me how much this one sucked and see ya tomorrow.**


	2. Chapter 2

As Garen's feet led him to the grand palace of Demacia, which was as amazing and beautiful as ever, his eyes narrowed. For some reason every torch was lit, every room's lights were turned on. The Demacian General nodded to the guards, standing in front of the gates. For some reason, they only looked at him with a strange feeling in their eyes. The Demacian felt strange, since for some reason the atmosphere was not the usual one. Well, he decided to blame it on the night, and the fact they were on watch.

Entering the Palace felt amazing. It was just... Just how it felt. Every time Garen would enter the enormous place, his senses would dampen, his eyes would widen for a moment, and he would forget about any troubles he had... For a moment. The red carpet was soft and his shoes sunk into the expensive fabric, while the chandeliers threw their golden light over all the inhabitants of the palace. He was expecting to be greeted by somebody at least, but he wasn't that fazed by it, he knew his way through the great building.

Making haste, Garen's feet couldn't clank over the marble floor as it was so well covered and shielded by the red carpet that it was hardly possible to do anything about the fact he didn't make any noise. He groaned when he thought of the fact that this was a really sweet spot for assassins to come, as it was hard to make no is with heavy armor, and about the light clothing they wore it was a challenge.

The round staircase reminded him of the fun times he had with his friend Jarvan when they were little, just kids, unaware of the harsh world around them. Garen wanted those times back, because of that reason. Jarvan had ordered the assassination of Darius, one of the few Noxians Garen knew had honor. But now, he was dead, killed in the same manner his own nation would try to eliminate both Garen and Jarvan many times. Poor Shyvana, having her love being ripped out of her hands, in their wedding day.

He remembered how the woman had screamed and cried, desperation in her eyes. He had died in her hands, as her tears had washed over her minimal amounts of makeup, and dropped on Darius' lifeless face. Her anguish and despair had turned into rage and hatred then. Garen was afraid of her that day, Jarvan was probably too. She had leaped towards them, turning into a dragon as she usually did, and if it weren't for the summoners, one of the duo would've died, or maybe even both of them.

They had returned to Demacia, and Garen had went to the mansion, locked himself in his room and... Cried. He cried for Shyvana and her loss, he cried for the Noxians and their loss, he cried for himself and... And his loss. He knew that Noxian soldiers were just normal people, who could've been just like Demacians, but were born in Noxus. Darius wasn't a bad man as well, he just had... Different understanding of things, different ideals. He was taught from a young age Demacians were evil, and that was the same with Demacian children. It was a strange thing. But Garen hat went over those emotions and returned back to his duty and post.

He reached the double door which led to Jarvan's room. He took a deep breath, ran his hand through his hair and knocked three times. He heard a muffled grunt and Jarvan, wearing his royal garments opened. His raven hair, flowing to his shoulders was bedraggled, and his beard was not shaved in a while. His eyes were dark, as if the same gloomy feeling that had affected the guards had affected him as well. A forced smile came to his lips as he saw Garen.

"Ah, friend, I've been expecting you." He said, extending his arm. Garen took and shook it, without doubt. "Garen, I am afraid my father is dying." Said Jarvan, his eyes darkening even more. Garen winced. 'When? How?' Last time the Demacian had seen his king the man was not dying, but only hit by a weak fever. "Come, we have to discuss it..." Said Jarvan, leading Garen into his dormitory. It looked as if someone had fought here, as the chairs were laying on the ground, there were a few broken vases and the carpet was cut in pieces.

Jarvan was stricken by grief, and probably even horror when he had understanded his father was dying. The King was an amazing ruler, and had been like a fatherly figure to Garen after his own father had been assassinated. But for some reason, Garen didn't feel crushed by the news, only shocked. He stood in front of Jarvan's desk as the heir to the throne sat behind it. His hand ran through his hair, and the Prince sighed.

"Garen, I don't know how. I don't know why. I... I don't want to know when. Luxanna and almost every other available wizard from the college has been working on a cure or something to prolong his struggle, but... We found nothing. Sona has been appointed to stay with him everyday, to play her soothing music, but... It didn't work. Nothing is working. I... I think I will be king tomorrow..." Jarvan explained. Garen nodded, feeling a tear slowly falling down his cheek. The old king was truly a good ruler, and an amazing person.

"Garen, come. I want you to see it as well as I did... So I have at least one witness..." Silently ASKED Jarvan. Garen nodded and walked with him to the room of the king. When Jarvan slowly opened the door, trying to make as little noise as possible, Garen saw that I was not dark in the room, but he felt something was radiating darkness, an aura of evil or... Something like it. Sona wasn't there, she had probably left when the king had fallen asleep. Poor girl, probably some of the population was going to blame her for not trying hard enough.

Garen looked at the bed, and underneath the sheets, he saw a deformed, hollowed out husk, which turned to look back at him. The King's eyes were still there, but for some reason Garen couldn't feel their warmth anymore. They were just... Just two orbs. The king tried to say something, but only a sound similar to coughing escaped his dry lips. Garen closed his eyes, but knew he would have to open them sooner or later.

The King was dead already. Only that, Jarvan probably was unable to realise his father was dead... Figuratively speaking. Garen sighed, hearing Jarvan whimper as he kneeled next to the bed. His head was bowed in a sign of defeat. The Prince was stricken down by this, his situation was worse than ever, realized Garen. The only moment in his life that he was this close to the edge was when Urgot had almost managed to execute him, but he found a way out of the hole. Now however, after the events of last year. Garen doubted that his friend would've been able to live through this.

The Demacian's eyes hovered over to the king. He was such an imposing presence before, and now he was ruined. But how? How could this happen to the man in only three days? Garen had heard of things which could fasten aging, but this was not normal. His nose twitched because of the smell which had nestled in the room. How in the name of Gods? Then he thought about Sona... How had she kept up with this? Garen was seeing the mute woman in a new light now. Even he wouldn't have been able to keep up with that smell for long.

"Garen... When the medics inspected him a few hours ago, they said he was hurting really much..." Sobbed Jarvan, turning around to look at his friend. Garden's brows furrowed. Why was it so hard to lose someone you loved? He had lost his father when he was barely ten years old, and his mother had passed out seven years after. He had been depressed both times, he couldn't talk to anybody both times. He had cried every night. Now he only had Lux, his little sister. If something happened to her, he wouldn't have been able to forgive himself.

"I... I think it'd be better if we... If we were to..." Garen nodded. It seemed as if this was the only way they could do it. Only one thing he could do, and that was be there for Jarvan. "Just... Just leave a minute or two, please..." Garen nodded. His Prince started whispering to his father, while Garen turned to look around. His eyes moved over the room, only so he could ignore the silent whisper and whimpers which Jarvan was muttering into his father's ears. But then he noticed one thing. The window in the room... was open... That was enough for him to understand that there was something fishy in here. But he would do the investigation later, if it were worth doing.

"Garen, I'm ready... Please come." The Demacian complied. He walked next to his friend and put a hand on his shoulder. Jarvan looked at his friend, and extended his hand. He didn't have a weapon to use. Without second thought, Garen gave him his sword. Jarvan lifted the blade. Muttered his farewells.

The blade sunk deep into the old King's flesh.

**A/N:**** Well there you go chapter 2. Just doing it so you people don't get angry and all. On a side note, I just realized what I thought was some chapters were more like 5. 2 are in the process of complete revamping, and it's kind of a big deal for me to actually sit and try to write. It's like agony, but a bit worse. As always, don't forget to tell me how bad this chapter was and I'll see you next time.**


	3. Chapter 3

Swain sighed. His red eyes narrowed as his brows furrowed. The letter he had earned was from the Institute of War, announcing the one week vacancy which was awarded to all the champions. All of them had left the Institute, somehow abruptly kicked out of the grand place. Now, Swain was rereading the letter. Something didn't make sense. And it wouldn't untill he realised something he had to.

Beatrice cawed silently, as his hand reached for her, and the bird muzzled in his palm. After Darius' death Noxus had lost its spirits. Noxus had lost everything they had, only because that man died. But it wasn't onto the people. The crops, the land, the rivers... Everything had died with Darius. Somehow, the general was the life of his Nation, and because he was dead, the nation couldn't live on.

Swain sighed. He couldn't think of a plan about it. They had buried Darius next to his parent's grave, because the only place they could think off to bury him. Shyvana was allowed to be there, along with all of Noxus. She had cried, and Swain had tried to calm her down, telling her that Darius was somewhere better now. Even Draven shed a few tears, but not too many to look bad in public. He had probably cried in the night however, because his hair was not fashioned the same way it usually was, which indicated he had not slept enough in the night.

Swain was also grieving, but he couldn't ignore the fact that his Nation needed him. He had worked hard on regaining his footing. Ordering almost all of the army to be assembled in Noxus, almost half the population of the city had returned from the Ionian provinces and a lot of the other provinces had also emptied. The people were afraid of the evils which could befall them. The Demacians could decide to do a lot of things, including an invasion, which the Noxians would hardly be able to live through.

The Grand General DIDN'T have a strategy for this case. The Summoners of the Institute wouldn't do anything in protecting them, because they seemed to lack information. The allies of Noxus would be targets of their own enemies, and that were both Piltover and Ionia. Sion wouldn't be able to raise the morale, because he was undead, already killed once. He would be able to keep the army up and standing for a long while, but for some reason it wasn't going to be enough. Swain knew it wouldn't be enough.

Beatrice flew of his shoulder and landed on the desk behind him. He didn't want to look at it, because for such a long time his own eyes would not be able to look at a map for any longer. He needed something to get his thoughts off the events of the last year, but he didn't know what. Sitting down on the chair, his eyes ran around, landing on the covered mirror. This was the mirror he used to contact LeBlanc. The thought of the gorgeous sorceress made him smile underneath the coul he held over his lower face. However he knew she wouldn't reply if he tried to contact her.

LeBlanc had a liking to Darius for a while, before he was exiled. But when she learned that he didn't share her affection, she had just frowned, and left. He hadn't contacted her ever since. He was sure she was hurt from the fact Darius was gone, but for her to stay away from conversations with Swain for so long was... Unusual. The only thing Swain thought of right now was only how to get in a not-so-engaging conversation with the Black Rose, and they would speak about his choice of a pet, then they would speak about her stupid choice of an outfit, they would laugh and then they would cover the mirrors.

Swain sighed. His hidden smile was replaced by his frown. They didn't have anything to do right now. Nothing they could think of would work. The generals of Noxus, together with Swain's genius in conducting and executing strategies were unable to think of a way out. And if the rumours of Jarvan the Third's death were true, the baby Prince would immideately blame it on Noxus. Talon had reported of the King's condition, and in Swain's eyes, what the assassin had described as a husk of a once great man, was not someone who could live through such an illness.

Talon was assigned to spying on Demacia, because of his much more silent ways of infiltration and murder, he was a much better choice than Katarina, as Swain had deduced. But the Blade's shadow felt hesitant on remaining in there, because for some reason the population seemed not as cheery as before. Gloomy, he had described it. Swain snapped his eyes shut, stopping his thoughts. He had to stop going back to that topic. Information was way too insufficient. He couldn't try building on conclusions. It would result in everything falling with thunder on the ground.

He cursed. Why was this happening? Why was Noxus dying, why was the whole nation dying? How could the death of Darius cause this? How?

"Oh Oath almighty..." Swain had a small heart attack there. He jumped off his chair and looked around, but couldn't find the bearer of the voice. "Come on, partner, don't tell me you have forgotten me..." The voice said again. Swain felt his pulse rise. Partner... Almighty oaths? Was that... Was that the Nomad Darius told him about.

Swain turned to look around the dimly lit room, but still couldn't find him. Then his heart froze. Beatrice. Where was Beatrice? Why wasn't she on his shoulder? Why didn't she caw when the Nomad first said something?

"B... B-Beatrice? Where are you?" His eyes were wide. He felt his legs shaking. Where was Beatrice? He felt something warm make contact with his cheek and he felt as if an enormous weight had fallen off his shoulders. His hand shot to his shoulder and he scratched Beatrice under the neck. He calmed down, whispering her name a few times.

"What a connection, partner. You are closer with the raven than some husbands are to their wives!"Exclaimed the Nomad. Swain's eyes shot across the room, and at last, he managed to identify the man. That person was a legend in Noxus. The Nomad. He had his own song, he was a legend amongst people, even Demacians knew and feared him. And it became clear to him. Swain knew how he could save Noxus. He knew. He learned the secret by just looking at the Nomad.

It was quite simple, really. The Nomad had been able to overpower almost every champion that originated from Demacia, and all of them at once. And now, the Nomad was here, looking at Swain, probably wondering what was on his mind. He only had to make the right move...

"My my, you sure can think fast, partner." Swain felt his hope shatter. "But I will do one thing which will help you to live on with your nation. I had an Oath, one that I thought I had completed. It seems that this was the only oath that I couldn't keep. And now I am not happy. I was thinking about joining you, or doing something bad to the man who was the reason I couldn't keep my promise. The man, who broke the Oath." The Nomad looked in Swain's eyes. "I came here because of this. And because I want to help you take down that man. Or at least try to understand what you have to use against him."

"What Oath was broken? Darius said that you had completed your part of the deal! This makes no semse! Who has done something for you that you were unable to return?" Asked Swain, his brow twitching. The Nomad sighed.

"Did you know that a man from Noxus has a brother who is from Demacia? And did you know that the man from Noxus had died, and his brother from Demacia had earned my promise? And at last, did you know that he made me swear that I will not let the children of the man from Noxus die before the brother from Demacia died? I failed in that mission. I want my vengeance." The Nomad told Swain. The tactician's eyes narrowed. Darius' father had a brother, who had deserted to Demacia?

"The rotten Prince has done something I do not yet know, but be careful. He is far stronger than he used to be before..." Those were all the things Swain learned from the Nomad. As the tactician was about to ask him something, the mysterious man disappeared.

Much stronger he was before? Troubling, that meant that he wouldn't be able to fight him one on one anymore. But they had learned something usefull. Beatrice was really silent, but her calming presence was still in the room. He pet her with his left hand, when he was suprised by a knock on the door. Swiftly he sat on the chair, behind the desk.

"Come in." He ordered. The door opened and her eyes instantly gave her away. The red haired beauty, called Katarina, The Sinister Blade, entered the room, closing the room. Her skimpy outfit was as revealing as ever, showing enough milky white skin, quite alluring cleavage and a perfect looking stomach. The knives strapped to her belt, shoes and small black jacket were probably as sharp as ever. Her luscious red lips were complimented by her emerald green eyes. The only imperfection in that woman was her scar, running through her left eye, and her way of handling things, along with the foul tongue she sported. "Ah, Katarina DuCouteau, what is it?" Swain asked, smiling weakly underneath the cowl.

The red haired beauty made sure the door is closed, before turning to look at Swain, crossing her hands over her chest.

"Draven is gone."

**A/N:**** Hey. It's me again. Big surprise, I know. Review so i feel better and I'll see you tomorrow?**


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